


Half-Life

by ladyillusion



Series: Divergent Worlds [6]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Audio Format: MP3, Gen, One Shot, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19661611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyillusion/pseuds/ladyillusion
Summary: Brightly-coloured flower petals tumbled from the mass of red hair to land on the black floor of the carriage. Kurama shook with fear as he knelt there beside the death god’s shiny boots. He couldn’t bring himself to raise his head to see their passage as the sun vanished.“Don’t be so foolish, little flower god.”





	Half-Life

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is available in audio form for those who would prefer to listen rather than read. Please note that this is a text to speech recording, which means that there may be some issues with it.
> 
> [Stream or download MP3 via Google Drive](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Cp0_DqXQxxwKqmrEf5kth4pTZfQWYiUb/view?usp=sharing)

Brightly-coloured flower petals tumbled from the mass of red hair to land on the black floor of the carriage. Kurama shook with fear as he knelt there beside the death god’s shiny boots. He couldn’t bring himself to raise his head to see their passage as the sun vanished.

“Don’t be so foolish, little flower god.”

Yomi’s voice was mildly annoyed as he directed his eyes down to the frightened, huddled figure.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he continued, reaching out to pat Kurama’s shoulder.

Kurama recoiled from his touch as if Yomi were a poisonous viper, his emerald eyes wide and terrified.

“Take me home,” he said. “Back to the garden.”

“No. I have need of you, little flower god,” Yomi informed him. “Really, what would you do there, anyway? Waste your time frolicking with the birds and bees?”

Kurama flushed. That was more or less exactly what he usually did. All of the gods did. How else was an immortal to spend his time? Other than getting into trouble, of course.

But Kurama had never found himself embroiled in the illicit love affairs, revenge plots and petty games that his fellow gods enjoyed. He stayed in his little garden, isolated from all but a handful of his brethren.

As the carriage sank smoothly into the depths of Hell, a chill crept up Kurama’s spine. His mother would be frantic with worry when she discovered him gone from the garden.

“I would like to go home,” Kurama said, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“But there is someone who is eagerly waiting to meet you.” Yomi’s blind eyes glittered as he ran his fingers through Kurama’s tangled hair, dislodging more of the flower petals that always clung to the scarlet strands.

“Who?” Kurama asked, mildly intrigued despite his fear.

Yomi’s smile was full of mystery and satisfaction. “You will see,” he said.

When the carriage landed in the courtyard of Yomi’s palace a large, red-skinned ogre offered to help Kurama out. Tentatively, Kurama accepted the aid. His bare feet softly landed on the stone pavers of the courtyard. The black horses that had drawn the carriage snorted and shook their manes.

Kurama hadn’t been sure what he’d expected Hell to look like. Maybe dark and depressing, cloaked in an eternal grey mist. But the air around him was clear. The sky above was a starless, cloudless black but that darkness was kept at bay by lanterns positioned around the courtyard. Strange beings stared curiously at him as he followed Yomi’s tall form toward the palace.

They passed by a bubbling pond, the water glittering beneath the light of a lamp. The black tail of a fish flicked the surface before vanishing.

There were plants, skeletal, colourless things that Kurama had no desire to touch. They looked as though they might crumble to dust with the faintest brush of fingers.

The doors of the death god’s palace yawned open before them. Yomi entered without hesitation. Kurama paused on the last step, his heart hammering in his breast with fear. If he entered those doors, would he ever leave this place?

“Dad!”

The boyish shout caused Kurama to sway on his feet. Small arms wrapped around Yomi’s waist.

“Shura, were you waiting for me?” Yomi asked, the amusement in his voice audible to Kurama, who was still hovering uncertainly outside.

“I wanted to see him.”

The arms released Yomi and a young face peered around the god’s form to stare at Kurama.

“That’s him?” he asked. “He looks like a girl.”

The boy’s eyebrows creased in confusion.

“He’s not a girl, is he?”

“No, he’s not a girl.”

Yomi turned to face Kurama and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Kurama could immediately see the family resemblance. Their facial features and colouring were very similar. The boy smiled tentatively at Kurama.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello,” Kurama said warily.

“Shura, this is Kurama. Kurama… this is my son, Shura.” Pride leaked into Yomi’s voice.

This boy must be the person Yomi had meant when he’d said that someone was waiting to meet him, Kurama decided. But why? Why did Yomi want Shura to meet him? Why was he really here?

“He’s dressed funny, Dad,” Shura said.

Kurama glanced down at himself. He wore flowing white robes. His bare feet poked out from beneath them. His hair was loose and untamed. In contrast, Yomi’s hair was neatly brushed. His robes were of a grey colour and cut differently to Kurama’s. Beneath them he wore breeches. Shura was dressed similarly to his father, though his hair was cut short.

“He’s from the realm of the sun, Shura. They dress differently,” Yomi said. He extended his hand. “Come, Kurama.”

Kurama placed one foot carefully over the threshold. Nothing happened. He didn’t feel any different. He didn’t feel trapped.

Just to be sure, Kurama drew back his foot. Again, nothing happened. He began to feel a little ridiculous. Maybe Yomi just wanted someone to amuse his son for a little while. Once the boy grew bored with Kurama’s company, then he’d be returned to his garden.

Kurama stepped lightly to Yomi, the stone cold beneath his toes. Shura bounced on his feet, eyes bright with excitement.

“Join us for dinner,” Yomi said.

Wordlessly, Kurama allowed himself to be escorted further into the palace. The steps of his hosts echoed between the walls. They passed by many strange creatures. Kurama couldn’t help but stare at a tall, scaled humanoid that walked by them, long tail dragging across the stones.

Flower petals drifted to the floor in Kurama’s wake, the redhead oblivious to their passing. As soon as they touched the grey stones, their colour leeched out and their softness turned to the consistency of parchment.

“Please sit.”

Yomi gestured to a chair at the long table. Kurama sat. He found himself between a smiling Shura and an impassive Yomi. They were the only people at the long table. Servants began to bring out dishes.

Kurama eyed the round objects presented to him dubiously. He’d heard something once. Something about the food in Hell. But he couldn’t remember what that was now. It was important but it eluded him.

“The blue ones are horrible,” Shura whispered to him. “But the green ones are sweet.”

Shura heaped a large helping of the green fruit onto his own plate beneath his father’s disapproving attention.

“Shura, you need to eat a little of everything,” he lectured.

Shura rolled his eyes, but he did take one of the blue fruits.

Kurama watched his hosts start their meal, delaying his own by sipping from the drink before him.

“Please eat, Kurama,” Yomi said. “The food is safe for you.”

Kurama tried one of the green fruits. It melted on his tongue, coating it with something sweet like honey. Kurama’s eyes widened in surprise. It really was good.

Buoyed by the experience, Kurama began to try some of the other offerings. Shura was all-too-happy to advise him, pointing out his personal preferences in between his curious questions.

When their plates sat empty before them, Yomi rose to the sound of Shura bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t allowed any wine.

Yomi sent the boy off to bed before once again leading Kurama through the dim, twisting halls of the palace.

“Why am I here?” Kurama asked quietly as he walked alongside Yomi.

Yomi’s sightless eyes drifted down to him. ‘Because of Shura,” he said. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed from all of his questions, he knows very little about the living realms. I want you to be his tutor, Kurama. Teach him about the lives of the mortals so he can understand them better.”

Yomi pushed open a door and gestured to Kurama to enter.

“This is your room,” he said.

Kurama looked around at the large room, feeling disappointed, though he didn’t have the heart to say so to his host. Or should he think of Yomi as his captor?

The decor was dark greys and blacks. The bed looked comfortable but that meant little to Kurama. He was used to light, airy rooms full of colour.

“Thank you,” he said politely.

“If you need anything, I will leave a servant outside your door,” Yomi informed him before stepping out of the room.

Kurama waited until the door closed behind the god before he began to explore the room. The wardrobe was stocked with outfits much like those that Yomi and Shura had been wearing, though in Kurama’s size. The was a window but it looked out onto a bleak courtyard. Lamplight cast eerie and disturbing shadows on the walls of the room.

Kurama jumped when he caught one of those shadows out of the corner of his eye. He’d been sure that it was reaching for him with dark, thin, clawed fingers. But it wasn’t. He shook his head, feeling unsettled, but also foolish. He shouldn’t allow himself to be so easily rattled, especially when it seemed that he would be spending some time here.

On the positive side, Shura didn’t seem all that bad. Teaching him might even be enjoyable.

* * *

Yomi ignored the repeated pleas from the ruler of the gods, Koenma, to return Kurama to the living realms. Shura was happy and Kurama seemed to be settling in.

Months passed by with little changing until Yomi began to receive some disturbing reports that something was happening to Kurama.

His vibrant red hair was fading to silver. His eyes had taken on a dull sheen. His appetite began to wane.

“Dad?”

Shura tugged anxiously on his father’s sleeve as Yomi strode down the corridor. The god paused, startled by the boy’s presence. He should have been with Kurama at this time of morning.

“Dad, I can’t get Kurama up,” Shura complained.

Yomi immediately reversed course, heading for the redhead’s room. Shura trailed him in.

Yomi bent over the figure wrapped up in blankets on the bed. Kurama’s hair was more than half-white now and it fell across his face as he slept.

“Kurama? Kurama?”

Yomi shook his shoulder. His only answer was a wordless groan. Kurama burrowed deeper beneath the covers, eyes still resolutely shut.

Yomi rose, worry etching lines into his face.

“He’s unwell. He needs to rest today,” he informed his son.

“So, no lessons?” Shura asked, his expression conflicted. Half of him was excited at the prospect of having the day to himself but the other half was disappointed. Kurama’s lessons were interesting.

“Yes,” Yomi said. “You can take Cerberus for a walk today.”

Shura groaned. “Do I have to?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Shura trailed his father out of the room. Yomi shut the door behind his son, making a mental note to speak to Koenma about Kurama. It seemed that he would have to compromise with the arrogant man after all. The prospect left a bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

“Nine months,” Koenma said flatly. He sat on his throne, his brown eyes intense. His throne room was everything Yomi hated. All clean, white marble and open on three sides to let in the bright sunlight. Yomi preferred closed, tight spaces.

“Six,” Yomi said, barely able to keep from gritting his teeth. “That’s half. I think that’s fair.”

More than fair, in his opinion.

“Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done?” Koenma demanded. “You’ve taken the god of life. The trees and flowers of the mortal realm are dying, Yomi.”

“That’s not my problem,” Yomi pointed out coldly. “Every living thing dies eventually.”

Koenma frowned. “Six months,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

Kurama could scarcely believe it when his feet touched the familiar ground of his garden. Yomi’s hand on his elbow steadied him.

Kurama could already feel the sunlight soaking into his bones, sending a pleasant warmth right through him. His flowers called joyously to him, their voices lifting his mood.

But it was dampened just a little by the sight of dead leaves and flora littering the garden. Kurama had a lot of work to do in order to bring the plants back to their usual vibrant state.

“I’ll see you in six months, Kurama,” Yomi said.

Kurama’s heart dropped at those words. He had only six months in the sun before he would have to return to Yomi’s dark realm. But, at least he knew that he would not have to spend the rest of his life there.

Yomi’s carriage departed, the horses’ hoofs having trampled the grass that had grown long in Kurama’s absence.

Kurama slipped off his boots and walked barefoot through the garden, savouring the feel of grass against the soles of his feet.

His mother waited anxiously for him near the bridge over the stream. All lingering traces of exhaustion vanished when Kurama saw her. He ran toward her, dropping his boots in order to hug her tightly.

“Oh, my poor baby,” she said, running her hand through his red-silver hair.

Feeling truly content for the first time in months, Kurama allowed his mother to guide him toward his home. While he couldn’t complain about the food in Hell, nothing compared to his mother’s cooking.


End file.
